


Down to My One Last Cent

by crisiskris



Category: Night Court (TV)
Genre: Bull is a Good Bro, Dan's not as bad as he acts, Episode Tag, Gen, Robbery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25786945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crisiskris/pseuds/crisiskris
Summary: Bull comes through for Dan - again. Episode Tag to Season 3 Episode 17, "The Mugger".
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	Down to My One Last Cent

> "Good luck has crossed me,  
> Bad luck has forced me  
> Down to my one last cent.  
> I'm right in the middle  
> Of solving the riddle  
> Known as raising the rent."  
> ~Ted Koehler  
>   
> 

Dan Fielding stumbled into his apartment, closing the door behind him, and locking it with shaking hands. He dropped his coat on the sofa as he went to the windows to check they were locked, and then on autopilot found himself checking the door again, before finally dropping into a chair and letting his head fall into his hands.

It had been a bad night. Another bad night. Hell, it had been a bad year. Ever since the untimely death of what turned out to be an intensely unreliable financial manager, things had just been a string of bumps along rock bottom. He was broke, exhausted, alone… and now he was scared.

He’d grown up literally dirt poor. He knew what it was like, and the thought of returning to that condition filled him with dread. And he’d just spent forty-five minutes at the police station, giving a statement against a man who’d robbed him at gunpoint in the elevator at his workplace, the courthouse, at the end of a long day in court. And the money that had been stolen was on loan, from Bull Shannon, four inches taller than the already-tall Dan, a whole lot bulkier, and a whole lot stronger. There was a lot to fear.

“I’m a dead man,” he groaned, recalling what Bull had said would happen if he couldn’t pay him back, tomorrow:

_“I’ll have to rip off your arms, legs, and head, and use the rest for a planter.”_

It was too much, Dan decided. He couldn’t get through the rest of the night just sitting here waiting to be pulverized by the oversized bailiff. Better to get it over and done with now. He propelled himself off the couch and walked to the table where his phone sat, snagging a bottle of whiskey on the way, and pulling straight from the bottle. Heaving a giant sigh, he reached into his pocket for his phone book and flipped through until he found the bailiff’s number. He ran one hand across his eyes, picked up the phone, and dialed.

As the phone rang in his ear, a knock sounded on his door. “Yeah, who’s there?” He called out, distracted.

“It’s Bull.”

“Bull?” Dan dropped the phone in shock. How could Bull be here already? Was he psychic? _Don’t let him in,_ he thought. _No, just get it over with_. He stood rooted to the spot, staring at the door with wide eyes. “Dan?” Bull’s voice sounded through the door. “I got a call from my buddy in major crimes. I came to check to see if you were okay. Are you okay?”

Dan’s feet moved him to the door almost against his will. He opened it a crack. “Am I okay?” he repeated incredulously. “You came to ask if I was okay?” He peered up at the other man, trying to assess the situation.

“Well, are ya?” Bull asked without guile.

Something deflated inside Dan, and he stepped back from the door, letting the other man come inside. “No,” he answered, using his hands to gesture his defeat. “Bull – I lost your money.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Bull said, closing the door behind him. “Way I heard it someone stole it from you. At gun point.”

Dan ran a hand across his eyes; his vision kept blurring. “Yeah, well…” he said. “I’m an idiot. I was so excited. I thought – finally, finally I can get ahead again. Get back a little of what I lost last year. What kind of idiot waves around five thousand dollars in a building crawling with criminals?” He collapsed on the sofa, whiskey bottle still in hand, and took another drink.

Bull sat beside him, the couch sinking under his weight. “You’re not an idiot, Dan.”

Dan sighed. Bull had a bad habit of being nice to him just when he wanted him to be mean. He didn’t feel like he deserved nice tonight; a punch in the face to punish him for his stupidity would be much more appropriate. But when Bull was nice, it made Dan feel like he should try harder to be nice too, so he said, “I’m sorry about your money, Bull. It’s going to take me a long time to pay you back.”

“You don’t have to.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to pay me back.”

Dan stood, agitated. “Of course, I have to!” he exclaimed. “Bull, it was five thousand dollars.” He swung the whiskey bottle back to his lips and drank, then continued, “I can’t – you can’t be out that kind of cash on my account.”

“Well, if you really want to, Dan, I’ll let you, but you don’t have to.”

“It was my responsibility, I lost the money, and I’ll pay it back,” Dan declared, but the burst of energy that had brought him to his feet was fading. His words were slurring a bit, more from exhaustion than the whiskey. When Bull tugged on his arm, he didn’t resist, allowing himself to be pulled back down to sitting.

The bottle was taken from his hand, and he allowed that too. “That’s the second time you said you lost the money, Dan,” Bull pointed out. “But the police report says that the man pointed a gun at your neck. Is that true?”

Dan nodded mutely. The moment was engraved on his memory: dancing into the elevator, counting the cash Bull had just handed him, exclaiming, “today’s my lucky day!”

“Mine too,” the man had said, and the next thing he knew, there was a gun... He’d been so shocked that he hadn’t been able to resist as the man pushed him against the wall of the elevator after the doors slid closed, patting down his pockets to make sure Dan had nothing left to give after he’d pulled the cash from his hands. He’d had a gun pointed at him before – lots of times. But this was the first time he’d been alone; the fear had totally paralyzed him. Dan had just stood there when the man had pressed the button for the next floor and got off as if nothing had happened.

Dan had ridden the elevator all the way down to the parking garage, all the way back up to the 21st floor with the court clerk that had stepped on, and all the way back down the lobby before he’d been able to break away from his shock. And the only reason that he’d gone to the station instead of going straight home was that a voice in the back of his head, which sounded suspiciously like Judge Harry Stone, had told him that if he didn’t report it, the guy would do it to someone else, too. Maybe someone who would be more scarred by being held up at gunpoint than Dan was.

“Do you know,” he said now, “I’ve been held at gunpoint seven times since I started this job?”

“For me it’s twelve,” Bull replied.

“I mean what is that?” His eyes were blurring again.

“It’s a living,” Bull replied, and then laughed heartily, the big, innocent, dumb Bull laugh that Dan heard day in and day out at the courthouse. Dan cracked a small smile, leaning back on the couch and shaking his head at the other man’s antics. They sat in silence for a moment. “I sure wish I’d taken the elevator down with you, Dan,” Bull said a moment later.

“Me too,” Dan replied, indignant. “Not only would I still have your money, but I would have made us both rich.”

“And I would have ripped off that guy’s arms,” Bull continued.

“And his legs,” Dan suggested.

“And his head,” Bull affirmed, grinning.

Dan grinned back. “And used the rest for a planter?” he asked.

“It’s nice that you listen,” Bull replied.

Dan gave him an exaggerated wink and a little punch in the shoulder. Then he looked away, sitting up straighter. “Thanks for coming by, Bull. I, uh, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Bull answered. “I mean that, Dan. I’m happy to help. Oh, and here,” Dan looked down to see Bull shoving a wad of cash in his hand.

“It’s too late, Bull, the stock market’s closed.”

“So, use it to pay your bills,” Bull answered. Dan shook his head, trying to push the money back into the other man’s hands, but Bull was stronger and was having none of it. “Dan, I know you’ve been struggling. What happened to you last year, that wasn’t your fault. So just say thank you for the gift and try not to spend it all in one place.”

Bull stood to leave. Dan sat frozen in place for a moment before jumping to his feet, scrambling after the other man. He grabbed Bull’s arm just as he reached the door. “Gift?” he repeated. “Bull, you’re – you can’t be this nice to me.”

“Someone should be,” Bull replied. “I know we don’t always get along, Dan, but I like you. You’re funny. You keep things moving in court. And you’re fair. And, well, I really don’t think it’s right that you should have to… you know, be with women for money.”

Dan, to his chagrin, felt his cheeks redden at the mention of his stint as an escort and the proposition he’d received from a wealthy widowed client. “I didn’t,” he said. “Well, I mean, Rebecca and I – we did. But not for money.”

Bull shrugged. “That’s good,” he replied. “Prostitution is a crime, you know.”

“Uh, yeah, Bull, I know,” Dan answered, but there was no bite to the words. “You’re a good man, Bull,” he said. “A… good friend.”

“Don’t worry,” Bull answered. “I won’t let anyone know we’re buds. I know you like to keep things snarky at work. Now lock the door behind me,” he instructed as he walked out of the apartment. “Lock the door, Dan,” he said again through the wood. Dan locked the door. “Good. Good night, Dan.”

“Good night, Bull.” Dan listened to the other man’s heavy footsteps trudging down the hall. Then he grabbed an envelope from his desk, scrawled the landlord’s name on the front, and stuck half the cash in it. He opened the door and ran down to the building manager’s apartment before he lost his nerve, banged on the door until the man opened, and shoved the envelope in his hands, demanding a receipt. Then he ran back up to his apartment and stuck the rest of the cash in his money clip, feeling a bit breathless.

_There,_ he thought. _It’s done. I’ve got a home for the next eight months_. It was the most security he’d had since losing all his money. Dimly he knew that his pride should be more offended that it came at the hands of that dull-witted clown of a bailiff, but he was just too tired to care. He sank back down on the couch, his eyes drifting shut.

He slept more soundly on the couch than he’d expected to and despite the crick in his neck, was feeling almost back to his normal self by the time he got in to work. He felt a bit hesitant going into the cafeteria, wondering whether Bull had said anything to their colleagues about the robbery, but Christine Sullivan, bleeding heart public defender that she was, wasn’t shrieking in concern when he sat down with his coffee and his newspaper. He let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding – allowing other people to see him vulnerable was almost as terrifying as having a gun pointed at him, and he was relieved to be able to avoid talking about it entirely.

“Hey, how’d your big stock market tip work out?” Mac asked as he settled in. Dan glanced up at the court clerk’s friendly face. Bull was sitting right beside him, big brown eyes watching him closely.

“Not bad,” Dan answered. “Paid the rent.”

Bull gave him a beaming smile and he rolled his eyes, cracking his newspaper open to hide his face before anyone could see him smiling back. But if Bull’s hand lingered on his shoulder just a bit longer than usual as the bailiff stood to retrieve his second breakfast, well, that was okay with Dan.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been re-watching Night Court and one thing that really struck me is that, in general, Bull's relationship with Dan is always all bark and no bite. After watching this episode, I just had the feeling that Bull would be understanding about his money if he knew what happened, and then poof, this idea appeared. 
> 
> Also, I've been wanting to fill in the gaps around how Dan has managed to survive financially, given what a big deal the show makes of the fact that he lost all his money and is constantly broke. 
> 
> I own nothing and mean no harm.


End file.
